Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am

by Sinclair Cherise

  “I need a little help, darling. To buy food.”

  Right. Any cash would go straight into a smack buy. “Been through this, Nancy. No money. You aren’t gone when I reach the house, I call the cops.”

  “You fucking bastard.” Her mask of niceness slipped, and mean replaced it. “I put up with you for years, gave you a child. You can’t even spare me a few bucks?”

  “You get money from the trustee every month. You get no more.” Their divorce had been ugly, but the evidence of her drug use and toxic behavior had disgusted the judge. She hadn’t been awarded alimony. Nonetheless, she was Nicole’s mother. He’d hired a trustee to pay for a room and groceries, and to deal with her. Because he couldn’t.

  Seeing her—each and every time—left him frozen inside. It would take a few days before he even wanted to see people again.

  “Asshole,” she hissed like the viper she’d turned out to be. “I loved you.”

  “Only when you wanted something from me.” His mouth twisted at the foul taste.

  “I love you, Sam. Darling, I owe Stevie a thousand dollars. Can you give it to me?”

  “I love you, Sam. Oh, darling, I broke my laptop. Will you buy me a new one?”

  Broken, hell. She’d hocked that laptop for drug money. Although he’d canceled her credit cards and stopped handing her cash, he’d been slow to realize she was selling things off. She’d even pawned some of Nicole’s toys. “You wouldn’t know love if it bit you in the ass.” As ice wrapped around him, he welcomed the way it blunted his rage. His memories.

  “Fine. I’ll go to Nicole.”

  “You bother Nicole, I cut off your monthly money, and you get nothing. Get out of here.” He slammed her door shut and stepped away.

  Two minutes later, as her car squealed down the road, he locked the gate and flipped on the security alarm. After the second time she’d broken into the house, he’d shelled out for the fancy-ass system.

  For a minute, many minutes, he stood, unable to move. Her car was no longer in sight, but her presence lingered like a rotting carcass, casting a stench over the farm.

  Leaning on the gate, he felt as hollowed out as if she’d gutted him. His energy, his emotions were drained. Turning, he looked up toward the farm buildings. The sky showed clouds rolling in. The temperature was probably dropping, although he was already cold to the bone.

  Got chores to do. He couldn’t seem to move.

  With a whine, Conn pawed at Sam’s boot.

  Sam shook his head, knowing he should reassure the dog. Couldn’t. Moving slowly, he started the long walk up the drive.

  * * * *

  As the wintery sunlight came through the windshield of Sam’s truck, he drove toward the Shadowlands. Linda sat quietly in the passenger seat.

  Hours after Nancy’s visit, he still felt…off. Cold, inside and out. Like parts of him had been ripped away, leaving a husk behind.

  After a few attempts to talk that had fallen flat, Linda had remained silent. He glanced over at her.

  She was watching him. “Are you okay, Sam?”

  Why the hell did she ask him that? “Yeah.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Her brows drew together. “Is it because of last night? Because our scene went from wonderful to horrible?”

  His gut twisted. He was a Dom. If anything went wrong in a scene, it was his fault. For a second, he thought about explaining, but the blackness roiling through his head eroded the words into dust. “I’m fine.”

  Her huff wasn’t a happy one. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. Can’t you talk to me?”

  Talk? From a distance, the windows of Z’s manor glinted. “Nothing to say.”

  Her fingers pleated the bottom of her shirt. “You let me cry, get me to dump all over you, but won’t share what’s bothering you.” She gave him an unhappy look. “Contrary to popular belief, a Dom isn’t a bulletproof superman. I want to help when you feel bad, Sam.”

  “No need.”

  She pulled back as if he’d slapped her.

  He should apologize. Take her hand. But ropes had been wrapped around his soul. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he turned into the drive to the Shadowlands. Beneath the tall palms that lined the road, the flower beds seemed garishly bright in the gray light.

  * * * *

  As Linda walked beside Sam through the side gate in the privacy fence, she tried to ignore the ache in her chest.

  Although he was hurting, apparently she wasn’t someone he felt he could lean on or share with.

  Last night, she’d been so happy to see him. Her heart had actually lifted, bounced, danced. And he’d comforted her so sweetly after that horrible scene.

  Today he was terrifyingly distant. The lines bracketing his mouth were deeper, his eyes a colder blue. He was suffering, and she wanted to help. A shiver ran through her as her stupid insecurities flared up. He didn’t need her. Didn’t need anything from her.

  Without speaking, he held the side gate open for her, and they crossed the yard to the back lanai. The decorations from the wedding were gone, but the landscaping was still stunningly beautiful. People were scattered in chairs and couches in the screen-covered outdoor room. After a second, Linda recognized the two Mistresses, Olivia and Anne, whom Rainie had pointed out during the wedding ceremony. All of the Shadowlands Masters—Dan, Nolan, Cullen, Marcus, and Raoul—were present. Z sat at a long iron-and-oak table beside Vance and Galen. The two FBI agents headed the task force concentrating on the Harvest Association.

  In jeans and a pink scoop-neck T-shirt, Jessica was serving soft drinks to the guests. Her “collar” sparkled in the sunlight almost as much as she did. She saw them and set the drinks down. “Linda!”

  Pushing her worries back, Linda abandoned Sam to receive an enthusiastic hug from the short blonde. “Welcome home. Did you have a good honeymoon?”

  “Awesome. Mostly.” After a glance over her shoulder at Master Z, her voice dropped. “When we got to the chalet, I gave him the toys I bought from Rainie. A present, right? But the bastard used them all that night. Every. Single. One.”

  Remembering the number of items Jessica had purchased, Linda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Yeah.” Jessica narrowed her eyes. “You know how some Doms don’t let you get off until they say? It’s much, much worse when they won’t let you stop. Seriously.”

  Like what Sam had done to her after the bachelorette party? “I know exactly what you mean, and all I can say is that I’m really happy I didn’t buy half the things you did.”

  Jessica busted out laughing so hard that everyone looked at them. “Damn Doms.”

  Linda’s spirits lifted. How lovely to hear laughter.

  Smiling, Z shook his head and said to Marcus, “I thought two weeks away from your little brat would be good for her.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Nolan said. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “Indeed,” Z said.

  “Work? He calls me work?” Jessica said under her breath. She glared at Nolan. Then her eyes sliced to Linda, and she whispered, “That Dom needs a lesson. Let’s work on corrupting Beth.”

  Linda choked on a laugh.

  Z raised his voice. “I asked Galen and Vance to give us a rundown on what’s happening. Then perhaps Linda can talk with us.”

  He’d want her to talk about that voice. About the slavers. Of course, she’d known the plan. Sickness rose in her belly.

  Even as Z stood, concern on his face, Jessica tugged her to a chair. “Sit before you fall.”

  “Thank you.” A shadow fell across her face. She looked up. Sam had taken a position next to her, arms crossed over his chest. The tightness under her breastbone eased slightly, then came back as she realized he wasn’t even looking at her. He stood there with a remote expression as if he were watching a boring television show. Not involved at all. Why? Why, Sam? Unable to help herself, she put her hand on his hip.

  He shifted away.


  She looked down, blinking hard. After a minute, she realized Jessica had sat beside her. Had taken her hand.

  After squeezing Jessica’s hand in gratitude, Linda concentrated on the discussion.

  Galen had been talking, his intensity a distinct contrast to his more laid-back partner. But both held the unmistakable aura of authority.

  “We’ve eliminated the Harvest Association in three of the four quadrants,” Galen said. “The last one is the most entrenched and will be the most difficult.”

  “Linda, I wanted to update you.” Vance’s blue eyes met hers. “The murderer you helped convict lasted three days in the penitentiary, then was shivved during a prison yard fight. He didn’t make it.”

  She stared at him, unable to process the information.

  After a moment of silence, Marcus sighed. “I do believe that sounds like a fitting end. May God have mercy on his soul.”

  Someday, someday she hoped she’d feel the same. Maybe then, she’d know she was healed. She pulled in a slow breath. Be at peace, Holly. He won’t hurt anyone else.

  Vance continued, enumerating other convictions. Then he glanced at Raoul. “A while back, we recovered a slave from Greville’s estate.”

  Greville. Linda’s mouth compressed. He’d been Kim’s owner and had stabbed her. Almost killed her.

  Raoul straightened. “Greville bought a slave after Kim?”

  “I’m afraid so. I don’t know if you want to share this with Kim, but the girl was totally closed up. Not talking. Almost catatonic.” Galen’s lips tightened. “She came out of it soon after I told her Greville was dead, that another slave had killed him.”

  “I thank you for the news,” Raoul said. “Mi gatita might find it helps the guilt she carries for his death.”

  Poor Kim. But thinking of the lives the slavers had ruined, Linda couldn’t keep from shuddering. Unable to help herself, she glanced over at Sam. He was watching her, but he didn’t move closer.

  “We’re still trying to locate all the missing women,” Vance said. “Not many of the slavers are willing to cooperate.”

  “Those fucktards,” Anne growled. “Let me have a turn with them, and they’ll beg to tell you everything.”

  As laughter broke out, Linda glanced inquisitively at Jessica.

  Jessica leaned over and whispered, “Remember, she’s a sadist.” Her eyebrows waggled. “And she loves cock-and-ball torture.”

  Oh. Ow. But wouldn’t that be a wonderful kind of justice?

  “Now that you’re caught up, let’s talk about the spotter in the Shadowlands,” Vance said.

  Was he talking about the person whose voice she’d heard? “What’s that?”

  “Since the association targets women in the lifestyle, BDSM clubs are prime hunting grounds,” Galen said. “The spotter chooses which women should be kidnapped.”

  Linda shivered.

  “You arrested the Overseer,” Olivia said. “He worked with the spotter. Can’t he identify him?”

  “He didn’t know the spotter’s name, just had an e-mail address and phone number.” Vance’s jaw hardened. “The description the Overseer gave us fits half the men in the club, and since he’s blind, he can’t ID the bastard.”

  “You picked up a lot of the association personnel. None of them can help?” Cullen asked.

  “The association hires a different person for each part of a kidnapping,” Galen said. “A spotter to pick the women, an investigator to choose the most vulnerable, one for the kidnapping, others to ‘warehouse’ the victims until the auction. One person in that chain knows very little about the others.”

  Vance nodded at Sam and Raoul. “Without you two, this quadrant would still be in operation.”

  “But the bastard who targeted Shadowlands submissives remains.” Z’s voice was low, but the fury was plain.

  “Surprising you couldn’t pick him out, psychologist-mind reader that you are,” Cullen said.

  Linda thought Cullen was joking, but no one laughed.

  “I wondered that myself,” Z said. “But a Dom considering a submissive for a scene has the same emotions as the spotter—lust and acquisitiveness. I doubt there’s any guilt present.”

  Galen took a sip of his drink. “You’re right. Human traffickers feel women are meant to be slaves.”

  Yes, Linda thought. The slavers had made her feel as if she were nothing. She unclenched her hands. Stay focused. “So last night I probably heard the man who targeted Gabi and Jessica for kidnapping?”

  No wonder Z was so furious.

  “The rat bastard,” Jessica muttered. “If I find him, I’ll help Anne crush his widdle dick.”

  Linda snickered.

  “You find something funny about this?” Nolan growled in disbelief.

  “It’s just”—Linda swallowed down more laughter—“if he picked Jessica and Gabi for a rebellious slave auction, he’s got a really good eye.”

  After a second, Jessica burst into giggles. No one else even smiled.

  Galen stared at the two of them, laughing like fools, before commenting to Z, “Women really are the tougher sex.”

  “Indeed.” Z picked up Jessica and sat down with her in his lap. “Silence, pet. Let’s keep going.”

  “Z said you’d heard the man during your captivity. Do you remember when?” Vance asked Linda.

  Her amusement disappeared, and she tried to steady her breathing. “It would have to be before the first auction. On the boat. I-I had my eyes closed. Didn’t look at anything.”

  Galen tilted his head. “Why only then?”

  The temperature in the garden seemed to drop, and she wrapped her arms around herself, wishing Sam would hold her the way Z was holding Jessica. But today…today he wasn’t the man she knew. “They stored us belowdecks in k-kennels.”

  Galen nodded. “We impounded a boat like that.” His level gaze met hers, silently saying, It can’t hurt you now.

  The tightness around her chest loosened a little. “On the boat, select buyers came to look at us. I-I felt like an animal. In a cage. Being stared at. I’d curl up on the floor and close my eyes.” She pulled in a breath. “The man I heard in the Shadowlands was in a group arguing the merits of older or younger slaves.”

  Vance frowned. “Z said you were sure that was the man, so he must have a pretty distinctive voice. Can you describe it?”

  She cocked her head to listen to the memory. Her nausea increased. “Tenor. Thin and slightly metallic.”

  Everyone stared at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  Marcus smiled. “That won’t help to find him, darlin’. Tell us, how is his voice different from a normal one?”

  “There are no normal voices. Everybody is different.”

  “Are they now?” Galen gave her an odd look. “If we blindfolded you, would you be able to tell our voices apart.”

  She nodded, feeling like a freak.

  “An auditory person,” Z murmured. “Do you sing?”

  She nodded again.

  “Dropped out getting her BA in music,” Sam said. “Sings in a choir—was director for a while. Has a piano and a guitar.”

  She looked up at him. He might be staring out at the gardens, but apparently he was listening. Her feeling of loss lightened slightly. “My son tries to fake me out on the phone by assuming different voices. He never wins.” She stopped, searching for a word that didn’t exist. “The resonance? Timbre? The pattern is the same whether baritone or soprano.”

  “I have the attendance records from last night, but almost the entire membership was there,” Z said grimly.

  “Line up all the members and Linda listens to them?” Olivia suggested.

  “Getting them there at one time would be difficult, even without the members who were present from out of the area,” Z said. “And unfortunately, contact information isn’t always current.”

  “If the spotter caught a whisper of a lineup, he’d disappear.” Galen turned to Linda. “Can you spend time
at the Shadowlands? Just to listen?” Galen asked. “Then if you can’t pick him out that way, we’ll try rounding them up.”

  “I… Yes. I can.” The thought made her feel sick.

  “No.” Sam growled, speaking for the first time. “You won’t.”

  She stiffened. “That’s not your choice.” Memories swamped her. Sickened her. “I decide when you piss. When you eat. Who you fuck.” The Overseer’s hand lashing across her face, the pain as he slapped her over and over. “Don’t think, slut. Just obey.” She swallowed against rising bile and tried to straighten her shoulders. She was free. No one could order her around. Never again.

  Galen frowned at Sam and then gave her an intense look. “It could be dangerous. Despite the arrests of his companions, the spotter is bold enough—and needy enough—to return to the Shadowlands. He’d react badly to the threat of exposure.”

  Vance nodded. “The club won’t be open until next Friday. You think this over.”

  A chill of fear raised the hairs on Linda’s nape. “I’ll let you know.”

  She’d had enough. Although none of the rest appeared ready to leave, she turned to Sam. “Can you take me home?”

  * * * *

  Sam pulled up in front of Linda’s house after a trip as silent as the one to the Shadowlands. He needed to talk to her, to convince her to stay away from the Shadowlands.

  He didn’t speak.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Linda slid out of the truck and closed the door.

  Hell. Watching her walk up the sidewalk, he spotted white blotches on the house. More paint had been scrubbed away. The spray painter had hit again. Anger lit a low burn in his gut.

  He got out of the truck. “Wait.”

  She came back down the sidewalk. “Yes?” Her voice was tight. The afternoon had been hard on her.

  He hadn’t been any help. Guilt and worry started to erode the ice inside him. “Got your paint. King’s antigraffiti stuff. I stopped by the paint store, and they matched your blue.”

  “Really?” Her eyes brightened. “No more coming home to nasty words? Best news all day.” She grabbed him around the waist and hugged him hard. “God, I love you, Sam.”